


Precious

by FinallyBlessedQuiet



Series: Precious [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, I Don't Even Know, John acts like Dru and refers to himself in the third person, M/M, Slash, Vamplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinallyBlessedQuiet/pseuds/FinallyBlessedQuiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The mumbled words, soft enough that only Sherlock can hear them, would cause any sane man to run for the hills. “My Locky, you’ll kill the dark one for precious, won’t you Locky?</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precious

**Author's Note:**

> This is weird, I know, but I saw how Dru and Spike were interacting and so I wrote this.

The mumbled words, soft enough that only Sherlock can hear them, would cause any sane man to run for the hills. “My Locky, you’ll kill the dark one for precious, won’t you Locky?

John is using his tongue to lap away stray droplets of blood on Sherlock’s cheek. It had welled when he had dragged a fingernail along it, cutting through the skin.

John’s eyes are wide, pupils perpetually blown wide, obscuring the blue. At least, when they’re alone.

Out in public there is the unfortunate truth that they must hide themselves. They must not let anyone see that they are vampires, and particularly unstable ones at that.

“Of course John, I’ll kill him for you. Don’t worry,” Sherlock says, holding John as if they were dancing, alone as they are in the living room of 221B.

John’s eyes are wide as he pulls away. “You’ll kill him for me, kill him for precious?”

Sherlock smiles as he spins John around, making the shorter man laugh. “Of course, of course. I’ll kill him, and everyone else too.”

The blond man pouts, “Not everyone, not Mikey and Greg, right?”

“They’re special to you, so they’re safe,” Sherlock answers, because anything his beautiful wants, he will get. The detective is arguably the saner of the two, a flip that most people who meet them in the outside world would not believe.

“Good. We’ll eat tonight, yeah?” John asks, smiling widely before nipping at Sherlock’s skin. The height difference means he has to reach up to do that, fingers playing with the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt. He’s thinner like this, when he’s not keeping up the illusion. Sherlock smiles, before spinning John again. “Of course. Have anyone in mind?”

John cocks his head to the side, pretending to think, before grinning. “How about the strange woman who made fun of precious?”

“She’ll burn for hurting you, precious,” Sherlock says. A few steps back and he’s sitting on one of the chairs, still holding John loosely. The blonde sits on Sherlock lap, giving the impression of a young child for a moment, still facing him. As they are now the same height, it’s easy for John to press a kiss against Sherlock’s mouth before biting down on his neck.

Sherlock lets his head loll back as pleasure courses through him. He brings a hand up to loosely grasp John’s head, keeping him where he is as a low moan escapes his mouth.

John releases Sherlock’s neck, licking up stray blood droplets before twisting around and curling up, still giving the impression of someone much younger. He burrows himself against Sherlock’s chest, and smiles. “You’ll let me play with her, right? You’ll let me scare her, make her more tasty?”

Sherlock nods, before moving his arms so that he is holding John against himself. “Of course, precious.”

The shorter man smiles at that, twisting again so that Sherlock can see that his expression has changed from that oddly childlike expression to a wide eyed smile reminiscent of a mad man’s. “It’ll be fun, Sherly, so much fun.” John’s fingers are now grasping madly at Sherlock’s hair as he resumes sucking at his neck, and had Sherlock not grown used to John’s tendency to change behavior without warning, he might have been rather alarmed. Instead, Sherlock allows himself to feel the waves of endorphins carrying through his system. The name John has given himself is rather accurate. Soon after John first Made him, the shorter man became Sherlock’s world, his most precious thing.

With characteristic abruptness, John pulls back and hops up so that he is once again standing, and suddenly he is ‘normal’ John Watson, as footsteps are heard ascending the steps to 221B.

Sherlock gets up, the bite mark on his neck already healed. As the door opens, they relax when they realize that it is Greg, who is not only another of their kind, but one of the few people still living who know how the two of them interact when they are alone. Still, John knows that he is mildly uncomfortable by how child-like he acts, probably by some experience as a human, so he makes a point of acting at least semi-normally around him.

“Hey, Greg, we were just planning a hunting trip, care to join?” John asks, knowing the dissonance between his appearance and his behavior to be off putting, and so purposely behaving as he does.

Greg nods, before looking behind the army doctor at Sherlock, who is still coming down a bit from the high. “God, you two, it’s damned weird, you know?”

Giving up on pretense for the moment, John purposefully goes back to the behavior he’s most comfortable with, and used the fact that he is definitely the shortest in the room to give the impression of a young child. “Isn’t that the point though?” he asks, wide eyes, before smiling and spinning around, arms out.  
He stops, and walks over to Greg, lifting himself up so that he can do something similar to what he did with Sherlock. As expected, Greg pushes him off, and John gives his best wounded puppy look before laughing, knowing it sounds a bit off and not particularly caring.

Sherlock has stood up by this point. “You will be joining us?” he asks the grey haired man.

“Yeah. I’m not the type to pass up on a free meal, no matter the source of it.” Greg is pragmatic. Despite his own discomfort with how John and Sherlock interact, he knows it is probably on the same level of abnormality as how he speaks with his own Maker, Mycroft Holmes. Something in what turns humans into vampires makes the Childe devoted to an extreme level, and that Mycroft at his weirdest rivaled John probably called Greg’s own sanity into question.

John, still making a point of making Greg as uncomfortable as possible, claps his hands and spins again. “Yay! Remember the woman who was mean to me?” he asks, eyes still purposely wide. “Well, we’re going to eat her. And I’ll be able to have some fun, Sherly said so.”

Greg smiles as he lets the last vestiges of his human self slip out. Now, this was going to be fun.


End file.
